


Deadly Sins

by sagechano



Category: Original Work
Genre: Adventure & Romance, An Unexpected Journey, Angst, Cat/Human Hybrids, Dark Past, Demons, Drama, F/M, Gen, Humor, Slavery, Sorceresses, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 01:07:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3709309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagechano/pseuds/sagechano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Azrael agrees to help out an old friend, the daemon never suspected it would kick up ghosts from her past. Friendships are tested and old flames reignite, as the threat of war looms on the horizon and her own body betrays her. Can the former leader pull herself together to make the tough decisions or will she fold under the pressure?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a test posting to see if it's interesting to anyone.

Chapter One

Smoke hung in the air and it complimented the stale taste of ale in her mouth. There was a pulsing sensation in her head, one that made her hand start to itch and other parts of her body to react in kind. Lifting her head lazily and rapping her knuckles on the wooden bar. “Hey, barkeep!” The shout had come out as more of a squeak with how dry her throat had become.

It managed to get the stout man’s attention and he hurried over towards her his curved mustache turned down in an obvious frown. “Can I help you miss?”

A splash or two of ale sloshed in the bottom of her glass. “Hit me.”

The man’s jaw began to set; she’d been in the pub since noon and hadn’t moved since. “I am sorry miss. You have had quite enough for one night.”

Her hand slapped the surface of the bar with a smack. “I’m not drunk until I pass out on the floor old man,” she snarled. The man looked positively frightened. Nudging the glass closer towards him she continued, “Now hit me!”

There was a scraping of chairs behind her accompanied with heavy footsteps of the locals. The keep backed away, slowly inching his way to the far end of the bar. In the smoke stained mirror she could see three men behind her. All leering or glaring at the back of her head. 

“We don’t like your kind here,” one of them snarled in her ear.

Another leant beside her, “Yeah, not in our town.”

The third simply nodded. All three stunk of beer and sweat, they’d been in the pub since sunset. The woman didn’t even bother instead knocking on the bar again signaling for a drink. One of the men reached forward and pulled the glass from her hand setting it out of her immediate reach.

_‘Now that’s just mean,’_ she thought with a sigh. The pulsing in her head was starting to get worse, her whole body felt like it was almost on fire. “What exactly do you mean by that gentlemen?”

“Daemons aren’t welcome here.”

Glancing in the mirror she saw what gave her away, everything about her looked near normal. Yes she could always pass for a human, but it was the eerie glow her sea green eyes had. If she hadn’t been feeling the effects so soon she would have passed for just another human. “That’s fine.” If there was one thing she didn’t want to do right now, it was fight. “I’ll just be on my way then.”

When she slid from her chair to the floor the men blocked her path. They obviously had other ideas. “Look fellas, you’re drunk and I don’t want a fight.” Her hands we’re held up in a defensive position. _‘Make it look like you’re no threat. Give them the option to walk away.’_ The small voice in the back of her head whispered. When one of them pulled his fist back, her frown deepened. Even though she was a woman, she was a daemon first and that was all people ever saw.

The one with a gap toothed grin was the first to strike. His fist careened towards her face. Dodging the drunken swing was easy, when the other two grabbed hold of her arms was when it became difficult. Their hold was firm but sloppy, struggling and twisting her body unnaturally she couldn’t get out of the way of the punch to the ribs. Gap-tooth’s fist struck against her rib cage and she swore she felt his knuckles break as they struck the metal underneath. The bottom right ribs had been plated a long time ago after a serious injury.

Stomping the insoles of the men holding her arms, they dropped her. Elbowing both of them in their soft stomachs, she took the opportunity to kick gap-tooth in the pelvis, then the knee. Dropping him to the ground clutching his goods. She wasn’t against fighting dirty if she had to. Another fist came out of nowhere, smashing against her jaw. Her teeth rattled and she damn near bit her tongue. “Son of a bitch.” She muttered, her own fist clenching tighter.

Using the heel of her hand she bashed one of the gruesome twosome in the face, breaking his nose. Kicking out a knee, the man dropped to the floor like a sack of bricks. Tripping his partner who fell awkwardly smashing his head against the smooth bar, knocking him out cold. A glass shattered near the far end of the bar distracting her, the barkeep stood staring at the door.

The one of the gruesome twosome struggled to get to his feet. She kicked him in the gut before he could get up fully. Smashing her knee into his face, knocking him back to the floor. All three men groaned against the wood floor. This fight was over.

Heaving for breath her cheek throbbed from the sucker punch and the urge to draw her sword was becoming overwhelming. Her hand burned, it itched. Vision clouding over, drawing a breath in she could taste the blood in the air. The darker side of her consciousness began pulling, clawing its way towards the surface. Begging to be sated.

A slow clap brought her out of the blood lust, whipping her head towards the door she’d expected someone from the town authorities. Instead a woman stood in the doorway. Her cloak hid her face but she was dressed for riding. Breeches tucked into polished leather boots and a simple riding tunic and belt holding a dagger. “Bravo,” she said in a musical almost bored drawl. “Three against you is hardly a fair fight.”

“They started it,” the daemon muttered rolling her eyes. Leaning down she began to rifle through the men’s pockets, pulling a watch and a bill fold from gap-tooth she flicked open the silver object taking note of the hour. “You’re late. I expected you to be here more than two hours ago Kyra.” She winced as the thumping in her head returned, this time bringing pressure and a lot more pain.

There was a snort from beside her, “You’re lucky I came at all.” Pushing the hood of the cloak back, Kyra sat upon a bar stool straddling it. “I was going to ask how bad it is. But,” she trailed off looking down at the three men on the floor. “That seems a moot point now Azrael.”

“You should have been here sooner. We could be in Kazan by now.” The frustration streamed off of Azrael in waves, she’d contacted Kyra three days ago asking her to escort her back to the city before the Rage could take hold of her. From the pulsing in her brain, Azrael could tell that she’d waited far too long in contacting her.

Kyra glared at her through thick dark lashes, “No need to be so touchy. What is the plan once we get to Kazan? I just get you into the city and that’s it?”

“I’ll pay you if that’s what you mean Kyra.”

“No it’s not what I meant.” She was examining her nails now. “It’s just that we haven’t seen one another in years _partner._ Then I get a messenger out of nowhere telling me to meet you in this little backwoods village to escort you to Kazan.”

Reaching over the counter, Azrael began pouring herself a glass of bourbon. The alcohol helped with the headaches, the cure was something much more potent. 

“So who’s the lucky guy going to be this time?”

She nearly choked on the amber liquid as it went down. “Kyra!”

From the scandalous look on Azraels face it wasn’t going to be an easy run to Kazan, specially with what she had to tell her friend and mentor. “You know there’s a price on your head.”

The daemon snorted, “What did I do this time?”

The way she said ‘this time’ made a knot form in the pit of Kyra’s stomach, one she knew wouldn’t shrink any time soon. “It’s from Port Darchaia. Something about killing a guy named Jack.”

“Jack and I had partnered for a score. We caught the bounty, turned them in and he took off with the gold.” There was a deep frown on her face. “I didn’t kill him. When I caught up to him in the desert he’d been caught by a gang of phantoms. I only put him out of his misery.”

Kyra had no doubt that Jack suffered for screwing over Azrael, knowing the reputation of phantoms, a lower daemon that sucked the essence from a human being, it was a painful death. “Did you get the gold?”

She blinked emptily at Kyra, “Phantoms can’t use it so yeah. They never did like me too much.” The bourbon glass was drained and filled once more. “Something about the way I smell.”

Kyra snorted, “Like booze?”

“Like a half breed.” Azrael muttered into the glass.

The women lapsed into silence as Azrael drank until the pounding in her skull dulled enough, the daemon could drink a normal man blind thanks to her mixed blood. But the bad things still came with it, like the Rage. With a sigh she stood from the bar, downing the remaining liquid in the glass and ironically enough the bottle.

“Do you have a horse?” Kyra’s voice was clipped.

Azrael nodded, “The brown painted mare outside.”

The woman stood and walked out the doors. Obviously Kyra wanted to get this done with, but she was feeling a little more reluctant to do so. Once she got to Kazan she knew there would be people there to help her with her little problem. Dropping a couple gold coins on the counter, the daemon took one last look at the men on the floor and walked out into the crisp night air. It was time to get this over with.

Two hours out of the little village they were still thirty miles from Kazan. Nearly a whole night’s ride, Kyra rode her dark mare behind Azrael’s. When Kyra rode it was easy to tell she’d grown up in the wealthier circles. Her back was stiff and regale. Azrael on the other hand was slouched in the saddle, jostling with the pace of the horse. Looking at her now Kyra would have a hard time believing her past at all, if it wasn’t whispered about all over the continent.

A twig snapped in the forest surrounding them and instantly Azraels head snapped up, listening intently to the world around them. Her horse had stopped and pawed at the ground a little until the woman kicked her into gait once she was sure it was clear. Traveling at night always made Kyra nervous. Many times she’d been ambushed in the woods; the lantern she’d typically use to guide herself was a beacon to thieves. This time though they travelled with no lantern guiding their way. It was midsummer and nearing a full moon, the lunar light was enough. 

Trotting up to ride side by side with the daemon woman, Kyra noticed that her eyes were once again closed. The way Azrael rode a horse it was as if nothing could ever touch her and secretly she envied that.

“Azrael, I want to talk to you about something.” Kyra whispered in the hushed dark. The woman didn’t respond right away. “Azrael?”

“I’m listening.” She mumbled, half sleeping.

“I do not know how much you know about what I’ve been doing, but I’m looking for a business partner.” Her dark eyes scanned over Azrael, she didn’t appear to be listening. “A large bounty has come up; it’s seven hundred in gold split. That’s if he’s brought in dead, it’s nearly double that if he’s alive.”

“The answer is no Kyra.”

“I understand your little, problem; will have to be taken care of first. But after that if you wouldn’t mind taking this on with me.”

“No.”

“Why not!” She exclaimed, her voice echoing off the trees around them.

“You’re still such a child.” Azrael scolded shifting in the saddle once more. “I’ve heard about the bounty Kyra and you’re insane.”

Kyra stuck out her bottom lip.

“Don’t pout,” she reprimanded. “His Royal Highness Prince Silas of the Northlands is the current Crown Prince of Valaas. The bounty was put up by his dearest uncle, His Imperial and Royal Highness Jenner of Bahshram, a man who I never wish to see again if I can help it, and going after him is suicide.”

The young human thought about it for a few moments, perhaps Azrael was right. Lord Jenner had taken over for Silas when he was barely out of diapers. Back when Azrael was still young herself and Kyra was barely a twinkle in her own father’s eye. Now that Silas was reaching the age of Tuning and being put in touch with his pure blood heritage he would be ready to take the throne. With a royal there was no telling what power’s he’d have. “The prince went rogue nearly a year ago. He fell off the map and recently resurfaced, ironically in Kazan. Jenner only wants to put him in prison, to keep the throne for himself.”

“It’s not that cut and dry Kyra. Politics never are.”

“It doesn’t have to be complicated Azrael,” she snapped in a hushed tone.

Turning her head towards Kyra, Azraels irritation showed with her eyes. Absorbing nearly all the available moonlight she could clearly see Kyra’s look of desperation. This bounty was bound to be itching in every single hunter’s mind from those idiots in B class and up. “You’re crazy,” she muttered looking away from the disappointed youth. “But if you’re going to do this it’s not going to be alone.”

Relief flooded through Kyra. “Thank you Azrael.” But when Azrael looked at her out of the corner of her eye she could see the inner glow more than ever. “But first we’ll take care of your little problem.”

“How generous,” she grumbled. “This isn’t an easy thing to live with or go through Kyra, especially since the war. Most daemons who have the Rage are killed before it can be sated or it passes.”

“I thought the drugs helped.”

“Not really. The memory loss was what threw me for a loop.” The bitter laugh was hard to miss. “Can you imagine waking up in a bed after two weeks and not remembering a damn thing?”

“Sounds like a good time.”

Azrael couldn’t hold back rolling her eyes. “We need to be at the gates before dawn,” she said closing the subject. “We can get in with the merchants.” She kicked her mare into a tight trot expecting Kyra to keep up or fall behind. The sooner they got to Kazan, the sooner her headache would be gone.

A few hours later they sat on the hills overlooking the city. Kazan hadn’t changed much in the last hundred years. Shanty towns outside the castle gate punctuated the hills, merchant caravans lined up at the enormous steel and wood gates. The only way in or out. The dilapidated castle sat in the cities center atop a high butte. Crumbling turrets and stone that were black with ash caused the guards on patrol to stand out in their red uniforms. Even from this distance you could see them dotting the high wall surrounding the castle. To Azrael this city always smelled of one of two things, smoke or death. She didn’t miss the curl on Kyras lip and watery eyes. The smoke coming from the city was horrendous in the still morning air. 

Riding into the valley Kyra couldn’t help but cough occasionally as a drift of smoke tinged mist blew into their faces. _‘How could anyone ever stand this?’_ The human woman thought bitterly. Sliding from their saddles the two women made their best to blend into the merchant crowd, getting into Kazan was easy it was the leaving part that had the young woman nervous.

“Where are we heading to?” Kyra asked as they stabled their horses and paid a young boy extra for brushing, new shoes and extra feed.

“The other side of the city,” she muttered hefting her saddle from her mare. The horse shook her head and stretched from the relief of weight. Azrael stroked her face a couple times removing the bridal and bit.

The young woman seemed to grind her teeth. “Then why are we stabling our horses here?”

The daemon seemed to ignore her as she dumped a bucket of oats into the feed sack, the brown mare snorted tossing her head about in pleasure. She nipped at the sleeve of Azraels dingy white blouse. “They won’t sell our horses here and Demitri will keep an eye on our girls.” She was signaling to the young boy, his face was speckled with dark patches of skin, making his hazel eyes pop. He was smiling brightly at the daemon as she ruffled his dirty blonde hair in a playful manor.

Kyra didn’t know what to say. They left the horses behind, winding their way through people until they were near the weigh center of the city. Upon arrival Azrael handed Kyra a piece of parchment. “I want you to meet me at this place in 3 hours.” The young woman looked hurt. “Do some shopping; see a show I don’t care. You don’t need to see where I’m going or what happens next.”

Glancing down at the paper in her hand it was an address in the Specter district, one of the slums. “What do I do if,” her voice trailed off as she realized she was talking to herself now. Azrael had disappeared. “Never mind then.” The young woman wandered away to do a bit of light shopping, she’d been in need of some fresh herbs anyway.

The pain was excruciating, managing to stumble into Flesh Market Close, Azrael attempting to blend into the shadows. Pressure was building in her skull and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She’d need to get to her destination quickly. Stumbling a few steps her hand tangled into her hair pressing against her forehead. Clammy to the touch no doubt she looked a mess; leaning over a rain barrel her reflection confirmed it. The normal tan of her skin was washed out, her hair was tousled and her eyes were glowing with the eerie inner light. But the true affliction of the Rage showed in the white fractal lines that etching down her face. The fractal lines looked like a tree branches, all different thicknesses and ebbing from her hair line forward.

Someone passed by her in the Close, staring and whispering to their companion. The daemon clenched her teeth in frustration. The Rage affected everyone differently, but the lines seemed to be a common symptom. She needed to get it together. Closing her eyes she took a few deep breaths, attempting to center herself. When she opened them the lines had receded but she was still ashen white. Standing from the barrel she caught the eyes of a few staring at her in the Close. Ignoring them she straightened herself and continued onward.

Traveling through the residential Close’s of the city was messy and often repulsive. It was mostly human’s that lived in this area, having no regard for cleanliness they’d often dumped their buckets of trash into the small streets. Some of them were wide enough to fit a cart down, while one person could barely squeeze through the others. Market routes were a cleaner option to travel and Azrael was careful to keep her head down and not bring attention to her.

Her feet carried her faster and faster to her destination in the Warren district. The Rouge Dragon Inn and Pub sat just off of Pierce Close and away from most of the human settlements. Whenever Azrael needed something the Rouge Dragon rarely failed her. The moment she walked inside her senses were filled with the smell of sex, blood and booze. The heat which had built inside her chest swelled the pounding in her head beat in time with her heart. This was what she needed. 

Pushing past men and women in various states of dress and debauchery, she made her way to the bar. Glancing twice at the couple in the corner entwined with one another, her lip curled when she realized they hadn’t even bothered to get a room. Various eyes burned into her skin, searing her flesh. Daemons and humans alike in this place paid attention when someone new walked through those doors and Azrael was fresh meat. Signaling for the bar maid, the tall narrow woman came over. Her red curly hair was tied back into a bun; she wore a stained apron over her red dress. “What ya need honey?”

“A room and a stiff drink,” she said dropping a stack of coins in the woman’s delicate hand.

Glancing at the gold coins the woman cocked her head. Reaching down she poured a stout glass of bourbon. “Company?”

“Male, clean with enough stamina,” she muttered into the glass knocking it back quickly.

The woman stared at her for a moment then motioned for her to follow. At the end of the bar was a set of stairs leading up to the inn and brothel. Azrael was not above paying for male company just as much as the pub wasn’t against giving rooms to daemons. Once through the heavy oak door the sounds of sex were as clear as day. “You have the Rage,” the young woman stated, leading Azrael further down the hall.

“Is that going to be a problem?”

The woman snorted, “No. You’ll have to pay for anything that’s broken or bloody though.”

“Fine,” she wasn’t even going to argue. Rouge Dragon had always been discreet when it came to the Rage and what it took for some daemon to cure it. Her heart was pounding so loudly in her ears it sounded like footsteps. “A daemon will do fine, fresh. I’ll just be a couple hours. I need enough to take the edge off.”

“Take the edge off what?”

The words froze her in her tracks and ignited her blood all the same. That voice. It had been years, hadn’t it? How long exactly she couldn’t say but it felt like an eternity since she had last heard those deep soothing tones and smelled that comforting scent of sandalwood, leather and hay chaff. The heavy foot falls stopped behind her, he was close enough she could feel the heat radiating off of him. An involuntary shudder ran down her spine.

The bar maid was glaring past Azrael and at the man who stood behind her, one hand on her hip and a scowl etched on her freckled face. “If you want up here you’ll have to pay like everyone else.”

He chuckled low in his throat and Azrael felt her skin flush. Without a doubt every single symptom of the Rage was in full display, fractal lines included. The fire in her chest grew, spreading to every limb and pooling at her hips. Her body began to shake slightly, God it felt like she was dying. The desire to shed her cloths and find relief was overpowering. “Noa,” she whispered her voice cracking. Her throat was so dry it felt like she’d been eating sand.

“What’s wrong,” his deep voice practically purred behind her. “Cat got your tongue Azrael?”

With a snarl she turned around, her teeth bared in warning. The daemon hadn’t been prepared when his lips crashed down upon hers in a demanding kiss. Teeth clanked together but she didn’t fight him instead she gave into it. The kiss was deep and violent. He bit at her lips while she sucked on his tongue. Her sweaty hands tangled into his short tousled black hair, pulling him closer. Heart pounding in her ears, all Azrael could smell, see or think about was him.

Without warning a hand clasped around her throat and slammed her against the wall. Gasping as her head smacked the wall, her hands gripped his wrist trying to pry him off. Noa stood apart from her, his body as far away from hers as his reach would allow. Catching his breath he wiped his mouth, glancing down at his blood tinged fingers then back at her. His molten blue eyes made her breath catch. “You always were a hell cat,” he said with a smug smile.

The bar maid stood beside the pair and began shrieking. The Rouge Dragon was not a fight club and the damages that could happen would be too much for either to pay. “It’s fine,” Azrael croaked out, silencing the woman. “You can go.”

Retreating footsteps and the slam of the heavy oak door was all they needed to hear to know they were alone. They both watched the other with suspicious intensity. Noa’s grip on her throat loosening until it dropped completely. Green eyes stared into glowing blue, assessing who was predator and who was prey. A low growl began deep in her chest, one that she hadn’t heard in years and when Noa’s gaze wavered and flicked to the open door beside them, it was enough.

Azrael leapt upon him, hooking her legs around his waist and half moaning when he gripped her ass in response. Pressing their lips together Noa staggered into the room and kicked the door closed behind him. He slammed Azrael against the wall nearest the door, kissing her hard.

Hands palmed her ass, bringing her closer against him and encouraging her to grind against his growing erection. Sliding a hand under her shirt, she arched to give easier access; his mouth drawing a line of fire from her lips, to her jaw, to her neck. Hot breath caressed her skin, teeth inscribing lines against her collar bone, fingers digging into clothed flesh. With what she could only call expert skill, he unclasped her bra and pulled it along with the shirt over her head, taking a nipple into his mouth immediately. Breathy moans escaped her while he licked and sucked the area, circling with his tongue and biting.

Exhilaration and frustration rolled into one, Azrael felt her senses come alive with each caress, each kiss. None of it was enough and yet it was too much, hips jerking against him she begged for more. Nails digging into the flesh of his shoulders, Azrael marked him, possessed him and demanded more.

He hissed, grinding his erection against her core. It wasn’t good enough. While he thrust his tongue into her mouth, her hand tore at the clasp of his pants. With the pop of the button and whisper of the zipper, his hard length sprang free. Taking him in her fist, the raw animalistic noise he made sent a shiver through her and a tremor of wetness to bloom between her thighs. “Would it be stupid of me to ask if you want to stop?” He muttered against the sensitive skin of her shoulder.

Stop? If he stopped now she’d die. “Stop and I’ll kill you,” she threatened. The words were hollow but it didn’t stop him from grinding still against her cloth covered core. Dropping her legs his hands immediately tugged at her pants, yanking them past her knees and taking her panties with them. She struggled to free her leg before he pressed against her again. His hand drifted downward, caressing against her belly and slipped against her core. Parting her legs for him she moaned loudly.

He didn’t disappoint, he never did. “You’re so wet,” he whispered against her lips. “So ready for me.” He dipped one finger inside her and she gasped. His digits moved, stroking the fire inside of her into an inferno. Thumb brushing against that knot of nerves. She jerked at the intensity of it, her whole being arching against him. He stroked her slowly confidently, speeding up when she clenched around him. She found herself on the very cusp of that murky blackness, ready to plunge over.

Grasping her ass once more he lifted her against what felt like a table. When a lamp crashed to the floor, she knew he was as far gone as she. Fingers were replaced as he covered her body with his and plunged inside her. Climax coursed through her with the intensity of lightning. He held her tightly, his hips still while hers jerked wildly against him. 

“That’s it Aurora,” he growled, blue eyes staring down at her. “Take what you want.” 

The use of her true name usually stopped her cold, instead it spurred her on. She needed to hear it again, hear proof that she was here. That this was real. That she could find release. Clawing at his back he needed no encouragement. Low rough moans escaped his lips as she rode him, her true name escaping in gasps and growls. Dropping to his knees and taking her with him Azrael took advantage of the leverage riding him harder than before. Fingers tangling into his hair as his mouth circling an exposed nipple; she nearly screamed. She had to see it now. Had to feel him come. Had to see him lose himself to the pleasure only she could give. 

Momentum thrown off, he shifted her to the floor. A low, rough sound bursting from his chest and then he was pumping wildly, slamming his hips into hers; pushing her higher and higher. The sound of sex filled echoed in their ears, the slap of flesh, the panting breaths, the wet slid of ecstasy. 

She let out a deep throaty moan, her entire body stiffening with a gasp of his name, clenching around his cock and that undid him. Roaring out her name with each thrust, he gave in to the euphoria that threatened to swallow him whole. Holding her close he rolled aside, drawing her against him in the now chilly air. They laid on the hard wooden floor, heaving for breath and clinging to one another for warmth. Soon their breathing eased. Her head was clear and her bones didn’t ache; the Rage was subdued for now. It would still be a while until she was completely better. Azrael shifted uncomfortably, her hips sore from lying on the floor.

“You know this room has a bed,” she whispered quietly, not wanting to break whatever spell it was that made him stay this time.

With a laugh he hummed against her ear, pressing his erection against her again. “We’ll defile that next,” he muttered a hand playing with her sensitive breast and plucking a nipple, she arched back against him, moaning like a fog horn. “I haven’t seen you in years Kit,” her nickname rolled off his tongue, for once she didn’t mind. “I want to take my time and I think we’ll have plenty of it to fuck on every surface of this room.”

Before she knew it he’d flipped her onto her stomach, propping her onto her hands and knees. His hand trailing down her spine and over the soft flesh of her ass. “Yes,” she agreed. “There is plenty of time.”

Of course it wasn’t true, but she could pretend. For just a little while longer.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Four hours she’d been sitting in this God forsaken bar. 

Four hours she’d been shoving men away from her. 

Four hours and she was going to kill Azrael if she ever saw her again. In retrospect she should have known better. The daemon woman had never bothered to be on time a day in her life. In fact, Kyra was rather sure she’d been late to her own siege’s. 

Drumming her fingers on the sticky surface of the bar she’d taken to watching people for nearly the last hour. A small group of men were sitting in the far corner of the Pub drinking and carousing with the wait staff. Two men at the far end of the bar had tried their best to ‘flirt’ with her by commenting on her bust size. That was surely a way to get into her pants, right. Her scowl deepened when she sipped at the nonalcoholic concoction in front of her.

“Don’t look so sour,” came the reprimand from beside her. “You look like you ate a case of lemons.”

Kyra snorted, “No I’ve just been waiting here for four hours for an inconsiderate….” She stopped mid insult looking over the daemon from top to bottom. “ _You_ certainly look, refreshed.”

Azrael reached up smoothing her now braided hair out of instinct and chose not to comment. Wrapping her knuckles on the bar she ordered a drink with a wave of her hand. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting long.”

“Well, I just hope he was worth it,” she shot back irritation lacing her voice.

Truthfully Azrael didn’t know what to make of it. Noa showing up out of nowhere and the steamy romp she’d spent with him was as bone melting as they came. She hated admitting it but when it was him, sex was usually more than a fling. Kyra was staring at her and Azrael realized she’d trailed off. “I’m sorry, what we’re you saying?”

The woman looked like she was going to blow a gasket. “This bar! Why are we here?” Her words were clipped and Azrael could understand her irritation, but at the moment she couldn’t bring herself to care.

A slow, knowing smile grew on the daemons face. “Come on,” she said drinking down her glass of ale and walking towards the steps at the far end of the bar.

The daemon began leading her through a maze of doors, rooms and pubs. Up the stairs, down a hall way, through another door, up more stairs to a roof. Then back down stairs, another door, past more people than the woman cared to keep track of all of whom watched with curious eyes as they passed. Truthfully she wasn’t sure she could get herself back to the original pub without help. Kyra nearly crashed into Azrael when she’d stopped after opening the next door. Glancing around the taller daemon she could see tables packed with people, a stage where women were dancing and yet another bar. “A gambling house? Really?”

Azrael seemed to be ignoring her. “Where is he,” she asked a rather strapping Minator beside the door. The bull headed man hooked a finger towards a back tables. “Thanks.”

Glancing around her Kyra was intrigued, she’d never been in an actual gambling house before. Though there seemed to be more than just gambling going on here. Most of the women dancing were Manitou, humanoid creatures some of ledged, others gods in a former life. A pair of women danced around shiny metal poles bolted to the floor, doing numerous acrobatic moves Kyra was sure would give her whiplash. A few more were crawling on hands and knees along the edge of the stage, pausing for a moment for a man to tuck a few notes into their skimpy outfits. She’d never have anything against the women who made a living dancing for strangers, it was far better than the alternative after all.

“Well Azrael Shaw as I live and breathe.” A voice boomed from near the corner they were heading towards. A feline Manitou stood his arms crossed over his broad chest, unlike some Manitou he was covered in hair, stripes and all. The moment he’d caught sight of Azrael he’d broken into a friendly grin, his whiskers twitching as he smiled. His gold eyes scanning her up and down.

Azrael laughed, extending her hand for a hearty shake. “Boots? How the hell have you been? Business is good?”

The tigre snorted, grasping the woman’s forearm in greeting. “Of course it is. With him wandering around it’s never been better.”

“I hear he’s pulling in some good clients lately?”

Boots snorted crossing his arms once more, “As good as their pockets are deep.”

The daemon laughed under her breath. “Where is he?” He pointed behind him to the upper decks of the room. The upper deck were only for high rollers overflowing with liquor, doubloons and women. “Thanks Boots,” she said slapping the man on the bicep and ducking past him. Kyra followed careful to keep an eye on the people who skimmed a little too close to her, she noticed Azrael brush against a few closely.

“Picking pockets in a friends establishment, how crass Azrael,” she scolded.

“You didn’t see the damages I amassed at the pub,” Azrael replied with a smirk. She’d forgotten how often straight laced Kyra could be. Thieving from people never struck Azrael as terrible, it was how she’d survived most of her adolescence after all. Plus, her romp with Noa nearly cleaned her out when it came to paying the damages. In her mind, it never hurt to lift a little cash from those who could afford it.

Easing past the beaded curtain which separated the room from the remainder of the gambling house the pair stood against the wall, watching what was apparently a very intense poker game. The dealer, a pouty lipped feline Manitou inquired about bets, many folded while others stayed in the game. When the woman flipped over the face card she smiled politely, “Twenty-two. House busts, you win again Mr. Sanders.” The winner, Mr. Sanders, was a well dressed balding, middle aged human. He whooped drinking down the remaining liquid in the tumbler to his right. 

He turned around, his beady dark eyes looking at both Azrael and Kyra and motioned towards the sorceress. “Hey sweet cheeks, get me another scotch will ya?”

Kyra bristled at the man and Azrael laughed under her breath, taking a hasty step forward to the empty chair. “Deal me in,” she said dropping her now replenished sack of coins on the table. The five men sat staring at her in shock, as the dealer reached out intent on counting the coins.

“This is a high roller table, sweet heart,” Sanders admonished, reaching for his smoldering cigar. “That’s a fifty thousand buy in.”

“The house recognizes the buy in at One Hundred,” the dealer said sliding new chips towards Azrael.

Frustrated beyond belief Kyra leant over against Azraels ear. “What do you think you’re doing,” she hissed.

“You don’t approve of theft Kyra,” the daemon whispered back. “Isn’t this more conventional?”

“You two going to be whispering the entire time?” Sanders remarked, glancing at Kyra. “I’m still waiting for my scotch sweet cheeks.”

Azrael didn’t miss when her companions glare shifted to the man, “Clean him out.” Kyra snapped.

For once lady luck was on Azraels side, though truth be told she was always lucky. Twenty –one or bust with a twenty thousand lead. But as the pot grew with each hand it made Kyra nervous; as did the frown on Azrael face. Four of the other men folded after their second deal, leaving only Azrael and Sanders.

“Mr. Sanders?”

“Stay,” he said waving his hand over the cards.

“Madam.”

Azrael pursed her lips tapping the table twice, a fresh card slid to her hand and lifting the corner barely she waved her hand over the set. “Stay.”

“Call,” the young catwoman said, flipping the houses cards. “House has eighteen.” The girl then looked expectantly at Sanders who was grinning like a shark and flipped his cards. “Mr Sanders has Twenty.”

Snorting and reaching forward towards the chips in the middle of the table Sanders laughed at Azrael. “Better luck next time, doll.”

“The Madam has twenty-one, aces high.”

“What!”

Laughing under her breath Azrael leaned back casually in her chair, the cards splaying in front of her. “Better luck next time, _dolI_.” Half of the room erupted into laughter at the obvious jibe. Sanders little round face began turning an impressive shade of red. Azrael was about to continue when a hand landed on her shoulder. A tall dark skinned man with green eyes and golden flecked hair gripped her shoulder tight, begging her not to say another word.

“Lady Shaw will cash out now please Hara,” he demanded in a rush. He looked down at her, a scowl on his face. “If you will so kindly come with me, milady.” Not waiting for her to comply he pulled her from the chair and began dragging her from the high rollers table as the chips were cleared and more jibes were thrown at the unfortunate Sanders. 

Pushed into a side room she wasn’t at all surprised when the door slammed shut behind her and an exasperated sigh escaped him. “For the love of All Father, Azrael. You’re going to get me in trouble one of these days.”

“It’s good to see you too Kale,” the daemon replied with a smirk. The door behind her opened and closed. “You remember Kyra,” she said without missing a beat.

Kyra wore a face of annoyance.

“Oh yes. I remember Kyra,” Kale responded, a distinctive leer in his voice.

“Watch it puss,” Kyra snarled, her hand clenching into a fist.

Green eyes darting between the two, Azrael could feel the tension in the air, _“I don’t want to know.”_ Clearing her throat, the daemon chose to ignore it and started again. “I’m here to pick your brain, Kale.”

The Manitou cocked his head to the side. Being half human Kale tried his best to always look and act it, but sometimes a few characteristics managed to slip through the cracks. Just the same way he couldn’t hide the tuffs of soft fur above his human ears or the ruddy color of his skin. “What about?”

“There’s a bounty out on the Prince of Valaas,” Kyra said, her glare piercing through both Azrael and Kale. 

Kale snorted, “Tell me something I don’t know. Every damn hunter in the world is looking for the guy, they know he’s in the city but not where.” He went to the other side of the table pulling out a chair and threw his feet up as he sat. “And they’re all coming to us for information.”

“Us?”

Taking a half step backward from the pair Azreal knew what was coming before it happened. The contemptible sneer on Kyras face was at odds with the death glare she was receiving from Kale.

“Yes, us.” Kale snapped back at the woman, his voice raising in octave. “You know, _those who should be seen and not heard._ ”

The daemon’s head snapped to Kyra, that was a direct quote. Had she actually said that to Kale of all people? The slump in the sorceresses posture matched the wounded look in her eyes, she had said that. Blinking back unshed tears, the woman’s gaze hardened just as quickly as the sorrow had appeared. Sensing an ensuing argument, Azrael beat her to the punch. “Kyra would you mind waiting outside for a moment?”

Her mouth flapping open like a fish, Kyra didn’t know what to do. The glare she was getting from Azrael commanded that she collect herself before it went any further. The daemon was giving her an out. Flustered and at a loss for words, the sorceress clamped her mouth shut and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

With Kyra out of the room the tension had disappeared in the room, but Azraels curiosity hadn’t. “What the hell was that?” She asked, turning her attention back to Kale. The man looked deflated, as if all the fight had gone out of him. _“Those who should be seen and not heard. That’s slave talk,”_ she thought bitterly.

“The past catching up with us.”

“What?”

“Just never mind,” he sighed, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. “What did you want to know Az?”

She watched him carefully, eyebrows drawn together, shoulders slumped. Azrael was sure if he still had a talk it would be wriggling in annoyance. “I tried to warn you about this city,” she scolded her mouth drawn into a thin line. “They don’t see freedom here, only bigotry.” Kazan was a highly segregated place, more so than any of the other cities in the world. His half human heritage gave him the upper hand when it came to rubbing elbows with the richer humans and daemon; he didn’t look Manitou so he wasn’t Manitou.

Pressing his mouth together Kale looked away from her, his green eyes going anywhere but to her face. “The city has never been a problem.”

“I’m sorry my friend.”

“You want to know about the Prince right,” he half snapped, Azrael nodded dropping the subject. “Silas is wanted by Jenner, I’m sure you know that. Seven hundred per hunter dead twice if alive; but he’s wanted more dead that breathing. Hence the high reward if he’s killed. Any hunter with a itch for money would go after him, but they’d also have to be stupid insane to try and kill a royal.”

“Why’s that,” echoed through the doorway. Both Azrael and Kale’s head snapped towards the door. Rolling her eyes Azrael opened it and Kyra stumbled back into the room. Clearing her throat the sorceress asked again, “Why is it stupid insane to go after him?”

“His base.”

The daemon’s eyes grew wide, her mind running faster than her mouth ever could. “Nobody knows what his is, that’s why he’s so dangerous. As a royal he’ll just be reaching the age of Tuning.”

“That’s right,” he said, nodding in agreement. “Nobody can be sure what his base is without getting close to him and obviously he’s not being too chummy with just anyone.”

“Silas has to be in his late 50’s right?” Kyra asked, sounding more annoyed than confused. “I thought he would have already reached the age of tuning.”

“He would if he were a half breed,” Azrael explained. “Tuning occurs earlier in half bloods and later in pure’s. Nobody’s too sure why, but you humans are lucky. You’re born tuned and gaining control over those magical abilities is harder when they’ve taken forty years to grow.”

“An average Pure Blood can reach full Tuning in 60 years,” Kale interjected. “They’re saying Silas isn’t completely tuned, at least to royal standards. That’s why he’s still in hiding.”

“Then he’s a wild card,” Azrael muttered her green eyes narrowing in thought. “His power could be all over the place, never mind knowing what his core abilities are. Anything else you know?”

The Manitou’s frown grew deeper, “You’re not seriously thinking about going after this guy are you? Hog tying a noble is one thing Az, but killing a royal?”

“I’m not making any decisions until I have the facts I need. Besides, who said anything about killing him?”

The man stood tall, staring into the shorter daemon’s eyes. There was never any arguing with Azrael, not when he was a child and certainly not now. “Rumor has it he’s on the other side of town hiding out in a brothel. Nobody knows which one.”

“But you do,” she said in a hardened matter of fact tone.

“Foxhole Gentelmens Club,” he muttered. “It’s pretty exclusive, members only and women need to be of a _certain caliper_ to go in.”

“So whores and money bags,” the sorceress said, sounding thoughtful. “Doesn’t seem to bad.”

Azrael wasn’t too sure, the west side of Kazan was made for the wealthy. Those who could afford to live in the west side were walled in for their own protection. It was the high end merchant area, where everything from raw jewels to slaves were sold. The storefronts were made mostly of glass and nearly all business was to be done behind closed doors, to enter the west you often needed papers, just as you needed them to leave this city.

“Do you have your nobility papers,” she asked Kyra turning her head towards the woman. She nodded reaching inside her jacket and pulling out a leather booklet. “Good you’re going to need them if we’re going to get into West Kazan.”

“Are you crazy!” Kale exclaimed reaching and grasping her elbow. “You’re going into the West End to look for this guy? How do you expect to get into the Club? Only whores are allowed in there and if you dress the part on the way nobody’s going to believe either of you are nobles!”

The trio was silent for a moment, Kale brought up some very valid points. Whores were the only ones ever allowed in if they were female, that meant if they were to leave with an incapacitated Prince it would look overly suspicious.

“I have a plan,” Kyra announced. “But you’re not going to like it.”

An hour later Azrael stood behind a changing screen, two other women poking and preening her. “You were right I don’t like it,” the daemon admitted. 

The sorceresses plan was more rudimentary than Azrael wanted to admit to. After a rather heated discussion of the basics, the three were standing near the edge of the wall separating West Kazan in a brothel. Kale had assured both girls that all three could get convincing disguises for their trip.

Inside the brothel smelled heavily of incense, a parrot by the door squawked a welcome to the three when they stood in the entrance. The wall inside read Pájaros del Paraíso in elegant purple lettering, and Azreal couldn’t resist rolling her eyes. “Birds of Paradise? How original,” she smirked. From behind a bright yellow gossamer curtain an exotic older woman emerged. Her dark eyes stood out against her amber color skin, upon seeing Kale her painted lips curved upwards into a smile from behind the mauve cloth resting over her nose. The older a woman was in a place like this the more likely she was to be the madam of the house. Reaching forward her fingers clutched to Kales arm as her eyes twinkled in welcome.

“Damsel Jasmina, it is good to see you,” Kale said with a warm smile. They began speaking in a foreign tongue Azrael couldn’t understand. Having never left the continent there were undoubtedly many native languages she couldn’t understand, but the gestures were unmistakable. Damsel Jasmina said something back and Kale responded by bowing and kissing the back of the older woman’s hand.

“It is good of you to come,” she purred, her accent was heavy but her gaze seemed to carry much more weight as she stared at Azrael. “Dis is the esteemed General no?” Before Azrael could deny it the woman bowed deeply at the waist. “Me and my people owe you great thanks for your services.”

Very rarely had Azrael felt torn and awkward at the same moment. Her pride wanted her to do nothing but deny what the woman said, but her politeness won the day as she swallowed the lump growing in her throat and returned the deep bow. “Please Madam, do not misunderstand my motives. I was merely a solider following orders.”

“Orders or no. Much of the world owes you a debt of gratitude,” she said smiling. Reaching out she brushed Azraels cheek softly. “Come my dears, Mister Acadian has explained what it is you shall need.”

Azrael couldn’t bring herself to look either Kyra or Kale in the eye. Her past was no secret and the majority of the world had decided that her actions during the Scion Wars were heinous; not praise worthy. But Damsel Jasmina was correct, what she’d done during the war had often opened a lot of doors not just for women, but for many different races. Kazan’s iron tomb customs be damned.

But now here she was standing behind a dressing screen with two other women pushing and primping her into little scraps of clothing she would never expect a high end prostitute to wear. But between the half bitten curses and shouts of pain, it seemed like Kyra was in the same boat as her. The two women were currently pulling her in different directions, one affixing half of her hair atop her head, the other was attempting to make her already perky breasts show more cleavage.

Using a needle and thread the woman began sewing the brazier while it was on her body, it’d been years since she’d had cloths custom fitted for her but the edict felt fresh to this day. The bottom edges of the cloths were all fitted with golden sequins and glass beads that tinkled with her every move. The skirt had come to mid thigh and had slits running up either side, she was sure if she moved in a proper way anyone would get a flash of her golden panties.

Satisfied with her hair finally the other woman began applying powder and khol to her eyes and face, then small appliquéd jewels to the corners of her eyes. A wet brush touched her belly and she instinctively flinched away, glancing down the other was painting a design onto her abdomen with a brown paste. Lastly long drooping chain was attached around her neck leading to a secondary that wrapped around her waist. The women stepped back nodding their approval and left once more.

Looking in the mirror, Azrael could barely recognize herself. The red outfit clung to her body, hugging the curve of her hip and accentuating the swell of her breast. Kohl lined around her eyes making the green pop, her lips plump and red and the girls had painted a stylized sun around her navel drawing her eye. “I don’t even look like me,” she said staring at herself.

“Azrael I need your help.” Kale shouted in frustration from the other side of the screen.

Beads tinkling with every step she took, Azrael came around the screen and saw him struggling with the tie around his neck. Kale was dressed to the nines in a light gray suit with matching jacket and cummerbund; his shoes shined in the lamplight as he turned around towards her. “I can’t seem to get,” he paused when he looked up at her. “Woah.”

“Shut up,” she muttered slapping his hands away from his neck and twisting the tie around into a perfect knot. “There.”

“I see they dressed you up nice too,” Kyra said walking up to her the beads on her outfit tinkling as well. Their outfits were identical in every way but color and the design around their navels, Kyra’s being a deep navy and a crescent moon encircling the belly button. “Good it’s going to work towards our cover.”

“Which is?” Azrael asked reaching down picking up her sword and tying it around her waist. “You’re going to cloak this for me right?”

“Of course,” Kyra snorted examining her nails. “Just to review the plan. _If_ we get into the club I’m going to try to make my way to the Prince. It should be easy to find out where he is once we get inside, he’ll be in the back rooms as far away as possible from the front and close to a rear exit. Likely a secret one. You and kitty-kat here keep watch, at some point one of you will have to come into the back and bring me this.” She held up a small purple color vial with liquid inside. “It’s a knock out infusion, pairs well with wine. But you’re going to have to bring it to me, I’m not going to be able to bring it into the back.”

Kale glanced over to Azrael. “That looks like your job, they’ll never let me in the back without a reason. Especially to the Prince’s chambers.” His gaze shifted to Kyra, “Your best bet of getting into the back is saying you are a gift from another club. Tell them you’re from Paraíso, the women here are higher caliper than most. They’ll likely take you back to the Prince right away.”

“Alright. But just remember,” Kyra said jabbing her finger into his chest. “You’re a gentlemen, not a pimp. So don’t act like one.”

Azrael snorted, “Don’t worry about Kale, just be focused on getting to the Prince. Cloak my sword now if you please.”

Huffing, Kyra snatched up Azrael’s hand and began mumbling. The daemon felt a tingle of power start at her fingertips and move to swallow her entire hand. Dropping her hand, Kyra touched a single fingertip to the hilt of Azraels sword and it disappeared entirely. “Your hand is a key, it’s going to pull it from the nether realm when and if you need it. It’ll wear off by the end of the day.”

“Good.” Azrael said, flexing her fingers and reaching for the sword. True to her word she felt the hilt in her hand the moment she reached for it at her hip.

“Ladies,” Kale said in a suave tone. He stood near the entrance, a pair of white fur coats draped over his arms. “If you would be so kind.”

Rolling her eyes Kyra was the first to snatch one from his arm, Azrael on the other hand waited for him to place it around her shoulders, immediately the garment cupped around her soft and warm. When Kale touched the back of her arm gently she felt her blood heat, a feeling that went straight to her belly; she flinched turning away from him her breath hitching unexpectedly.

“Kyra give us a moment please?” Kale said, watching Azrael with careful eyes.

Taking notice of Azrael’s uncomfortable stance and labored breath the sorceress nodded, stepping out of the room and into the hall.

Reaching into the breast of his jacket Kale produced a flask. “I thought you might need this,” he said, holding out the container to her. The daemon snatched it away taking a mouthful of the whiskey. “I barely ever see you in this city unless you have the Rage Azrael.” His voice was whispered and hushed. “Is it going to be a problem?”

The whisky burned down her throat and she took another draught. Enjoying the calming effect liquor always provided her. “No,” she said, her voice hoarse. “No. I have it under control.” Corking the flask once more and looking up she wasn’t prepared to have her body caged against the wall by Kales. Stumbling back her arms were thrown wide away from her body, in an instant his lips pressed against hers. As predicted the fire in her hips licked higher, demanding more from the man; instead she shoved with all her might, pushing him away and slapping him in the face. “What the hell Kale,” she snarled glaring daggers at him.

Wiping at his mouth with a thumb, her lipstick had smeared over his swollen bottom lip. “Just checking,” he muttered. If she wasn’t in control she never would have pushed him away, let alone slap him just as he deserved. “Azrael if it starts to take over.”

“I know,” she interrupted, handing the capped flask back to him. The daemon could understand why he kissed her, the rage was dangerous when it came to her. Men had fought and died for her when she’d been sick, when Azrael had the rage she could be dangerous. “It won’t. I promise.”

With a nod he left to join Kyra and Azrael began begging every god she could think of to not let her break that promise. Because where they were going, it could be a matter of life or death.


End file.
